


the thrill of being sheltered in your arms

by VanityEclair



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: !!, Cuddling & Snuggling, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Light Petting, M/M, Rain, Short One Shot, Sick Enjolras, Sickfic, There's A Tag For That, They love each other, as in hair petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27079144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanityEclair/pseuds/VanityEclair
Summary: Enjolras comes down with a cold.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	the thrill of being sheltered in your arms

**Author's Note:**

> hi !! >:D title is from "i get along without you very well (except sometimes) by chet baker.. good song
> 
> enjoy!!

Enjolras is _Stubborn._ With the capital S. He is a free-spirited, enthusiastic and _terrifying_ young man who never gives himself limits. In everything, he is ambitious. He applies this passion to his daily life, because he's incapable of doing anything halfway.

Of course, this youthful exuberance leads to his downfall. 

It began after a night of studying with Courfeyrac in the library until two in the morning for a required English class. They had both emptied two coffee cups each and were chugging down their third cups, until Enjolras' trembling hands failed on him and dropped his caramel macchiato on his white coat, thoroughly staining it and the t-shirt beneath it. It's important to know that his white coat is also his _only_ coat. This information becomes useful.

So Enjolras' only coat was ruined. 

Courfeyrac, though the spill wasn't his fault, apologized truthfully for the sepia colored stain. 

_("It wasn't your fault," Enjolras promises._

_"But I was the reason we bought more coffee!"_

_"That doesn't matter at all.")_

Following the disaster, Courfeyrac walks out of the library with his empty cup in hand and bag slung over his shoulder besides Enjolras. Despite his lingering guilt over the incident, he's grinning at the blonde as he tosses the cup into the trashcan they walk past. "Do you need me to walk you home?" he asks. Their elbows are bumping and they've stopped walking. A car has mistakenly stopped to wait for them, and Enjolras waves at it to drive past.

"No, no thanks. 'Ferre's probably waiting up on you. You know how he is."

It's true. The man only sleeps whenever he knows Courfeyrac is accounted for, no matter what. Sometimes it seems like he's more of a watchdog than a man, but he's satisfied knowing his best friend didn't settle for anything less.

Courfeyrac raises an eyebrow. "He wouldn't mind."

"Courf. It's almost three in the morning. Get on home," Enjolras says, ruffling the younger man's hair playfully. "I feel like going alone."

"If you're sure..." As if on queue, Courfeyrac's phone buzzes with a notification. "Be careful, alright? It's getting cold."

He isn't wrong. It's about forty degrees fahrenheit out and windy, he's only wearing an iced coffee-stained t-shirt, but he's going to survive. He's sniffling already, and with his coat is heavy in his arms and his heaving book bag hanging off his back, he's thankful he only lives about five minutes away from the campus library. "Love you, Courf."

"Love ya, Enjolras!"

The shorter is waddling away to the bus stop just nearby, and he looks almost comical swaddled in his puffy coat with a matching hat and gloves. Instead of stopping and waiting to make sure Courfeyrac makes it on the bus like he normally does, the distinct smell of petrichor fills his nose and he decides to make the run out of the parking lot, and into one of the winding streets that leads to home in hopes of getting there before rain falls.

His feet carry him about halfway and he's shivering with the hair on his bare arms standing when he feels the first drop of rain on his nose.

"Shit," he curses as the force of the rain increases terrifyingly rapidly. His phone buzzes in his pocket, most likely Courfeyrac or Grantaire, but he keeps it there to keep it from being destroyed. Water is soaking through his shirt and he was already cold before from his iced coffee spilling all over him, but now he's undyingly freezing, and he probably looks like a miserable cat to anyone passing by.

Another two minutes of being pelted by rain and wind, and he's _finally, thank god_ at his doorstep unlocking his door with a sniff. He wipes his nose with his arm because nobody is watching him and he doesn't want snot to get to his mouth, and then twists the doorknob with a small sigh. He is forever grateful to himself for turning on the heat before he left, but despite that, he's still shivering as he drops his bag and coat to the floor. 

He still doesn't know what he's going to do with it, but he can only hope the weather clears up by morning time. It isn't really something he wants to deal with, but at least he can be confident in the fact that he isn't going to be sick. Enjolras, in his entire twenty-one years of life, has never come down with a cold from winter weather. Summer colds, yes, but never a winter cold.

For a moment, hunger pangs in his belly, but he's so damn tired that he forgets about the soup in the fridge and walks straight to his bedroom, removing his clothes as he goes and throwing his phone beside him on his bed once he's stripped down to nothing. The last thing he feels before he falls asleep is a dull ache in his legs.

Enjolras wakes up _aching._ His bones, his head, his muscles, _everything hurts._ He's sweating, but at the same time, he's so fucking cold. In the night, he forgot to cover himself with his comforter after his eventful night in the rain. He tugs it up over his shoulders and groans with great displeasure. How could this happen to him?

His stomach aches because he's so hungry, but he decides he isn't going to attempt to walk. His legs feel like he's got concrete boots strapped to them and his eyes are heavy, despite having just awoken. It's so _embarrassing._ He should text Grantaire, but he really doesn't want to be seen like this. Is it normal to be this frustrated when you're sick?

With all the power in his body, which isn't much, he reaches for his phone and checks his messages. There's a few unread ones from Courf, and one from Grantaire.

**courf!: did u get home!!**

**courf!: im gonna assume u did and r sleeping^-^**

Enjolras opens up his chat with Grantaire.

**Grantaire: Courf texted me. Hope you get home safe, be careful. Text me when you're awake.**

**enjolras: hhi**

**enjolras: goodmorngn**

**enjolras: im nto feelign good :/**

**Grantaire: Good morning. What happened?**

**enjolras: um i got a fcold**

**enjolras: it's rlly abd**

**enjolras: i can't even get up and i mreally hungry ushould come over**

**Grantaire: On my way.**

Enjolras is both relieved and terrified. Relieved, because he's going to be taken care of by Grantaire. Terrified for the same reason. They've only been dating for about two months and it is way too early for Grantaire to see him in such a vulnerable state. Sex is one thing, but being sick and helpless? Grantaire is going to see him at his _worst!_ He's laying naked in bed with tears and snot dripping down his cheeks and he wants to eat, and he's going to have to actually _rely_ on someone. There's a potential that Grantaire could get sick, too.

Oh, this really sucks. His stomach growls at him. 

"Shut up," he says. He blames it on the delirium of the fever.

After about fifteen more minutes of crying, his phone has died and he shoves his face in the pillow in a desperate attempt to hide when he hears the front door opening. 

"Apollo?"

He lets out a pitiful noise that sounds like somewhere between a whale and a man. Footsteps approach the bed but Enjolras refuses to look up, would rather drown in his pillow of tears until the bed sinks down at his side and fingers stroke softly through his hair. "Hey, Apollo?"

Enjolras peeks up from his pillow, red-rimmed blue eyes meeting Grantaire's soft green. "R," he coos, completely satisfied with the nails scratching at his scalp. 

"I heated up the soup in your fridge, can you sit up?"

Enjolras shakes his head because _oh god his throat hurts and not in a good way._ "Hurts."

Grantaire is dressed in only sweatpants and a soft, forest green sweater, and Enjolras just wants to curl up into the man and stay there forever. But he can't, because he's _gross_ and Grantaire is holding a bowl of soup and it would spill otherwise. "Get on your back, love," Grantaire encourages, setting the bowl on the nightstand and smiling at his boyfriend. Enjolras obeys, but everything in his body protests the movement. 

Grantaire takes the spoon and holds it cautiously up to Enjolras' mouth, and he swallows the chicken soup graciously. It's repeated until Enjolras has decimated the liquid, and is successfully fed. It damaged his pride, but he's so much happier with Grantaire beside him anyways. 

"Here. I brought the heating pad," the older man says, plugging in the blue pad into the wall and lifting Enjolras' head to tuck it beneath. He puts it on the third option, and it warms up almost instantly, much to the blonde's satisfaction. 

"Thank you, R."

"For what, love?"

Enjolras giggles at the confusion on Grantaire's face. "Making me feel better. Being here."

The brunette flushes red like _he's_ the one with the fever, but he kisses Enjolras on the cheek anyways. It's tender in a way that his exes have never been before, like flower petals in the midst of a rainy spring. That kiss eases him so much, and there're so many unnamable things in his hair and he's crusty but he doesn't feel like a burden on Grantaire. "I'm always here for you."

"That's why I love you," Enjolras whispers, pulling Grantaire into his naked embrace mindlessly as if he hasn't just confess his love for his boyfriend of two months. Graintaire, though, doesn't make a big deal out of it. He loves the man, whether he's immaculate or down in the dirt. Instead, he kisses Enjolras slowly and whispers against his lips, a gentle, "I love you too, Apollo."

And if Grantaire comes down with a fever two days later, nobody says a thing about it.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vanityeclair)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this sappy lil thing!! feel free to point out any mistakes you find <3


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